The Pain of Loss
by an unseen bystander
Summary: A wound to the flesh will heal in time. But those to the soul will remain forever.


The night seemed calm. However, appearances can be quite deceiving. If one were to look closer, one would notice ten mounds of recently disturbed earth, nearly covered by the undergrowth. The nearby trees still retained small black patches on parts of the trunk. A few red stains were still visible on the ground and in the undergrowth. A small path of broken branches marked a half-visible trail through the bushy undergrowth, and created a circle in the center of the clearing.

To a casual observer, it was an ordinary clearing. To a trained eye, it was an old battle. To the ones who had stormed through the clearing, it was a victory. To the ones who had followed a few minutes afterwards, it was a massacre.

A few minutes run from the clearing, a Sentinel squad was pausing as their leader looked for their enemies' trail. Three of the Sentinels stood watching their leader, waiting. The last elf was slumped against a tree, sobbing quietly and darting glances at the now-bloodstained ring on her finger.

The leader spotted the trail again, and waved a hand to the three waiting Sentinels. Two sprang into the brush to follow the leader, while the third nudged the sobbing lady on the shoulder before following. The five continued running down the faint trail in absolute silence. After all, what was there to speak of? They were hunting now; their quarry no longer considered a sentient being but a ruthless monster.

A few more minutes passed in silence, until a break in the trees ahead became visible. The squad stopped in unison, and spread out into their classic offensive formation. No words needed to be exchanged. They moved, without a sound, to the very edge of the tree cover, staying out of sight of their quarry. They peered, in unison, into the small clearing, which contained several tents, a ramshackle hut, and a small cooking fire. Five orcs, still dressed in stained armor, milled about, darting glances into the dark forest. A few soft cries could be heard from inside the largest tent.

The Sentinel leader raised her hand and rattled off a few quick gestures. The other Sentinels made no outward sign of recognition, but all sprung into action at precisely the indicated moment. The tall, indigo-haired Sentinel fired first, her arrow neatly bisecting the largest orc's throat. The shorter, teal-haired elf shot next, milliseconds after her predecessor, and impaled the second orc through the forehead. The third shot came less than a second later and took down another orc. The last two shots instantaneously killed the last two defenders.

The orcs stiffened and crumpled to the ground almost simultaneously and in utter silence. The five Sentinels crept up to the large tent, which was the only one containing signs of occupancy, and arranged themselves on either side of the doorway. The teal-haired elf raised her hand, four fingers extended. The others nodded. The leader held up her hand and began ticking off five seconds. Her squad slipped their bows onto their backs and silently pulled out pairs of wickedly curved daggers.

As the leader reached zero, the squad burst into the tent. The first orc by the entrance was dead before he could even acknowledge that the door flap had been opened.

Only then did the first noise break the silence. A shriek rent the air as the tear-faced Sentinel sprinted forwards, bypassing the remaining stunned orcs. They had no chance to respond, however, as the other Sentinels caught up and sliced two to shreds and pinned the third to the floor with an armored boot.

The sobbing Sentinel fell to her knees and rocked back and forth over her find. She wailed and reached down to close the small set of eyes which still mirrored her own. She cupped the corpse's cheek with her hand, looking down at the small figure that was once so similar to her husband's. A tear fell down, splashing on the dead child's hair. Even the child's position in death had mirrored the Sentinel's husband, as he had lain there in the bloody field.

The other four Sentinels waited in the background. As their compatriot's sobs ceased, they approached and each laid a hand on her shoulder. The Sentinel reached out a hand to brush a strand of hair out of her child's face. She stood up and turned around, staring down at the pinned orc's face. Her face remained an emotionless mask as she retrieved her fallen dagger and used it to slit the orc's throat.

Her squad looked on in silence as she walked back to the end of the tent and tenderly picked up the tiny body. She turned around, a single tear rolling down the side of her face, and walked out of the tent. Her squad followed, and they all disappeared into the shadows of the trees.

They did not have to talk. There was no need to. All had known the agony of loss. And all knew they would never have their fill of vengeance.


End file.
